Riding Shotgun
by tylee17
Summary: Alec had never liked riding shotgun. It meant not being in control, not being able to do anything about where you were headed... - short piece on Max and Alec, some issues, and a car. And yes, a black Impala would do nicely if you needed a visual...


_Anyone care for another one of my slightly weird attempts at a Dark Angel fic? Anyone? [Beat]_

_Hello? (:_

_Coz, yeah. I'm still alive…

* * *

_

Alec hated it.

Riding shotgun.

Had never liked it. Maybe it came with the territory, being Manticore and all. Maybe he had been forced to blindly follow too many times already…

He clenched his teeth in frustration.

Max stared at Alec, with her eyes following the frantic dancing movements of the slider hanging down from the zipper of his shirt, right underneath his chin. Then her gaze lost its focus again, and drifted off, out of the window.

Alec shot a quick glance in her direction, his knuckles turning white at the sight, before he unclenched one fist to lightly touch her forehead.

Make her talk, he ordered himself, pull her out of her reverie, out of this state she's in… No matter the cost…

"Max," he eventually said, voice raspy from having been abused earlier, each single note's reverberation further hurting his sore throat, and yet not painful enough.

She didn't look at him, didn't even turn her head anywhere near his direction, but at least she acknowledged him with a short mumbling sound.

At least that.

* * *

He liked the feel of a steering wheel in his firm grasp, liked to be in control, to steer tons of steel across the asphalt. It gave him a sense of freedom, of being able to go wherever he wanted to, and no one there to take that decision out of his hands, to force him to go somewhere he didn't want to go, do something he didn't want to do.

It had been one of the first things he had done after being freed from Manticore's chains, getting himself a car. Driving. Following no one, nothing, but his own will.

And his conscience.

It had felt so liberating. So new.

* * *

He shouldn't ask this, he really shouldn't, and yet he couldn't for the life of him come up with anything else to say. His mind was mostly blank, his senses numb. (He had been there before; so had Max…)

"'09…" he eventually whispered, not much louder than a breath, and yet his voice cut through the heavy silence like a blow, "You never told me about it. What happened to you back then, Max?" Alec went even quieter, his words hardly discernible now over the low rumble of the motor underneath them, "How did you escape?"

She did look at him then, her eyes dark and full of sorrow, of pain. No trace of the well guarded expression of earlier, the one he had come to associate with her—the one she had only failed to hold up once before. Just once.

Oh yes, she was strong, stronger than many others he had come across, stronger than many soldiers that had had more professional training than she ever had. But the streets taught you more than even the best drill sergeant could.

Apparently.

No, Max never had to shy away from open comparison with Manticore's finest soldiers. Alec was sure she was stronger than him on some level; maybe on every level.

But at that very moment he didn't see that strength in her, that defying stance, that blazing fire.

Her mouth opened and closed, then opened again, her face already fleeing to the safety of the side window's glass, a surface that wouldn't stare back at her like he did. Like others would.

"Alec… don't."

"I'm sorry," he said, though he didn't do apologies.

"Please…"

Her gaze searched his again, found it, held it. From the periphery he could see her pointed knuckles protruding from angry fists and couldn't help touching one of her hands with his, willing her to unclench her fingers.

He couldn't handle it—_her_; like that. It tore at him, maybe even scared him—if only he'd allow that thought in his head; but he didn't. He couldn't.

Max was not supposed to let go like that, to let go of all responsibility, to give up.

It was not supposed to be like that. It's not what had made him stay.

They both remained silent for a long time, the countryside passing them by seemingly of its own accord, as if the car did not need a driver, someone to direct their path.

Finally Max broke the silence, a slight tremor betraying the aimed-for firmness of her voice. "It was because of my brother," she said, still not looking anywhere but out the side window, "—because of what they had done to him," she whispered, so softly that Alec wasn't sure at first whether he had only imagined it. "After the shakes had started…"

She looked across to him, her eyes querying. "Do you even know about the shakes, Alec? The seizures? Maybe you don't—"

"I do…" he simply stated. It was his turn to avert his gaze, not wanting to go there. Already he cursed himself for having raised the subject. Idiot. He was a friggin' idiot. Simple as that. An idiot who never could manage to keep his big mouth shut.

"Oh," she made, and nodded. One small sound, not ringing with surprise, but maybe with something close to acceptance.

Suddenly, a sob broke out of her, nearly tearing the heart straight out of Alec's chest, making him curl his fingers around the steering wheel in painful tightness, his nails boring into his palms.

There was an unnamed pain buried somewhere deep inside him, too, he suddenly realized, something that was threatening to surface.

And where was PsyOps when you needed it?

"Jack… They…" Max stopped, suddenly guarded, and bit her lip, her brow furrowed in a painfully heavy frown, her eyes looking haunted.

Her usual kickass attitude was completely gone. Just another transgenic, hurt and broken, like too many others Alec had encountered in his life so far.

Vulnerable, like they all were.

His hand found hers again, and he squeezed it gently, no longer than a second—maybe two—before he took his hand away, as if afraid that small contact might prove too much without the reassurance of a proper embrace…

"When I showed the first hints of a similar tell-tale shiver, Zack decided, we… _we_ decided…"

She didn't have to finish her sentence, the elliptic statement was enough, really, and said it all. Alec was not stupid. Zack had wanted to protect his so-called sister as well as the other members of his unit. They had been kids, had been afraid, had not thought farther than their own small tight-knit group. He understood it; he did, and yet he couldn't shake off that odd and irrational feeling of betrayal.

"We never thought of what else our flight might entail, we never… God, if we had known what they did to you—," she stopped herself, rephrased what she had been about to say, "what they did to our twins, we'd never have left like that… we'd…"

He flinched at her words, at her sudden acknowledgment. He didn't want to hear this…

"We'd never…"

"I know," he muttered, interrupting her.

But they _would _have. He could see it in her face. And what was so wrong about wanting to save yourself, and protect the people you loved?

It's what he and Max had tried to do only a few hours ago, too.

What they had _tried_ to do; protect their friends—their family.

"I can't do this anymore," Max suddenly choked out, startling Alec out of his thoughts, and he stared over at her, his expression—unbeknownst to him—giving away the full extent of his anxiety, his pain. His love...

"Max…"

"It's too much, it's just… too much. I'm not a leader, I'm not like Zack. I'm not that strong, I can't… He saved me, Alec. They would have killed me if we hadn't escaped. But he didn't let that happen, he… _I_'m not like that—I… today… he'd never have failed so horribly, but I…"

His clear eyes locked on hers, his expression firm now, guarded. "You _what_, Max? You _did_? Fail?—Take it from me, okay? Failing is something else entirely. Failing is… it's not what you did. The people we lost today? Their deaths have nothing to do with you—but everything with _them_. You're not responsible for anyone's death. You're not, okay? And I would know; my Manticore education made sure of that." He fell silent, inwardly cursing himself for having said that.

Max's gaze locked on his, her expression unreadable to him, unsettling. "Alec."

He tore his eyes from her to stare at the black road in front of them.

Why hadn't he just let the silence linger on, had allowed it to blanket their pain, numb them even more? Why did he have to bring up the past, when the here and now was painful enough already?

Apparently he was not only Max's pain in the ass but also his own. Fantastic; how stupid could one guy be?

His hands clenched around the steering wheel again, so hard it hurt. And then he felt her fingers on his taut shoulder, felt her hand touching the drenched fabric of his shirt, and he took a desperate intake of breath.

Being responsible for someone else's death…

Neither of them said anything more, they both sat quietly, trying to blend out what happened that day and who they had lost. It was so hard.

* * *

No, Alec had never liked riding shotgun. It meant not being in control, not being able to do anything about where you were headed, it meant letting others make decisions for you, force those decisions on you. It meant having to submit to the will of other people, to go at their pace.

Alec hated to rely on anyone but himself.

* * *

He turned his head toward Max, who sat next to him in the passenger seat. Her drawn features made her look horribly spent and broken. Her small frame had slumped further down in the seat; her glassy gaze had started having difficulties focusing on anything for longer than a few seconds.

She smiled wanly at him, Alec's own face only briefly managing to mirror her expression, before he had to return his focus back to the street ahead of them.

Ahead. Never back.

The horrors the rearview mirror held were too much to bear.

He couldn't heed what lay behind them, not if he was the one to get them out of this, not if he was to stay sane for a little while longer. And no matter how much PsyOps, reindoctrination, and whatnot had scarred him, he hadn't forgotten how to be a leader, had not forgotten how to shut his mind off against the flood of emotional threats life held in store for him.

He could still do it.

* * *

Oh yes, Alec loved driving a nice car like the one he was driving now. He loved to circle the steering wheel with his fingers, palms resting on the smooth surface. He loved to have a hot chick sit right next to him if the circumstances permitted such a treat. Even if hot chick meant Max; or maybe _especially_ then…

But for all the world, sometimes he wished he could simply be the one riding shotgun; could let the driver choose the road, guide him to a way out of everything, away from it all. Alec would just have to sit there and wait it out.

As unshed tears started burning in his tired eyes, he noticed the tell-tale salty traces on his fellow's cheeks; and one hand leaving the steering wheel…

… he gently touched Max's cheek, wiped away the tears. His eyes met hers, held her burning gaze…

… then his other hand let go of the steering wheel… his foot hit the breaks.

It's the driver who decides where and when to stop, after all.

* * *

_I know, there's quite obviously a backstory to this that I didn't really elaborate on. Some day, maybe… (:_


End file.
